When the Waves Recede
by Sound Color
Summary: Allinde was born in a time of fading and taught all the wisdom of the Ancients. She knew of the voluntary death. But she never expected her own parents to fall. OC, narrative, Third Age, but draws strongly upon elf history from the Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, Morgoth's Ring, and others. Sets the stage for all later stories using this character. Mature themes.


**(Note: this is character background that is critical to understanding the rest of my Middle Earth original character stories. The first section is written as an overarching narrative. The rest are written in a personal narrative from one of my main original characters, Allinde Palannur).**

Near the beginning of time, when many of the sea-elves were leaving Middle Earth for what lay beyond, Ossë persuaded a few to stay, among them Cirdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Falathrim. Minuilos, sister of Cirdan, also decided to linger on these twilit shores. Tall and fair was she, as any of her kindred, with pale ashen hair and blue eyes. Aside from the ocean her love and power was music and she used to idle by the sea, singing in harmony with the waves.

In later time during the First Age, Minuilos occasioned a visit to Doriath; rare indeed, for parting from the sea was a matter of great reluctance. While there, she met Cefion, a Sindarin artisan who crafted all manner of pottery. Love grew between them and soon they married in Doriath. Shortly after Cefion and Minuilos returned to the sea near her brother, where she gave birth to two girl-children. They were named Eleneve Ceredir and Halffein Glawarien.

After the War of Wrath Minuilos, Cefion, and their eldest daughter Halffein left for Valinor; the other decided decided to stay a time longer, for she had close ties among the people of Lothlorien, and a deep love for her uncle. Eleneve grew after the likeness of her mother, yet shared her father's trait of golden hair. She also followed after his profession, becoming a sculptor of great beauty.

While traveling to Lindon Eleneve encountered Baranorn, a scout of Laiquendi and Noldorin heritage. He differed from her as the Sun differs from the Moon, being of dark hair and eye, with as deep a love for the woodlands as she had for the sea. As they were both turned towards the same direction, they journeyed together, and became close ere reaching their destination. Soon a bond of affection grew between them as well, and they married, quickly and privately, as trouble was brewing in Numenor and Middle Earth.

The rest of their lives Baranorn and Eleneve were ever apart due to their conflicting desires. Only in death did they finally rest together in the Halls of Mandos. After the passing of the Battle of the Last Alliance, Eleneve came into the service of Lady Galadriel as a handmaiden.

In the early part of the Third Age, Eleneve gave birth to a daughter, in the haven of Mithlond. This child, named Allinde Palannur, grew into a woman given to neither parent's likeness. She was neither short nor tall, while comely hardly beautiful, her features such a diffusion of bloodlines that no particular elvish heritage was readily apparent; only in her voice was there the fairness and strength exclusive to sea-elves. Her eyes, an odd mixture of grey, green, and brown, were as a mirror, seldom revealing but the gazer's own image and thoughts.

Long did Allinde travel as a scout, wandering between the elven and mortal realms as was her wont and duty.

...

I was born in Mithlond. The very first sound I remember hearing was the crashing of waves upon the shore. For reasons of her own my mother had traveled all the way from Lothlorien to the sea, just for this occasion. I assume it must be that we had relatives there—my grandmother's brother Cirdan was lord of the Havens—and that my mother's heart was always for the sea.

My father chose the name Allinde for me, for it was evident at an early age that I would share the same love for music as my mother and her mother before her. However my mother, forseeing my destined path, gave me the name Palannur, Secrets Far and Wide. An odd name for a elfling, born at the beginning of fading times, surrounded by so many kinsman who were wiser than she. During my childhood this after-name was almost never used.

In any case, a few years after my birth my mother had to return to Imladris, as she was a handmaiden of Galadriel. My father too, had to depart, for his services as a scout and experiences from many years were sorely needed. And so I was left, in the care of my kinsmen, and the many other elves who lingered in the Grey Havens. My parents I knew to be important and loving individuals who visited often, but never stayed. In turn, they forbade me from leaving Mithlond until I chose my path at my coming of age. I know now that they distrusted the darkness in the world, and wanted me kept safe under the care of Lord Cirdan and the ring Narya that he bore.

I enjoyed living in Mithlond. I had no lack of company. I loved to listen to the tales of my ancient kindred, and learned quickly the languages of Quenya, Sindarin, and Nandorin in order drink in their words. However, I also enjoyed wandering along the sandy shores, climbing the high rocks, and mimicking the gull's cry. I learned their language as well. The elves in the havens soon gave me an other-name in suit my bright eyes and joyful spirit; Gladovol, that is Laugh of the Waves in Telerin. With some debate, I persuaded my kinsman Cirdan to find someone to teach me this language of the sea-elves as well. Half a century passed swiftly.

...

At my fiftieth year I faced the choice of what my future role would be among my people. My affinities led to a few paths: I could either become a minstrel, which would entail a long stay with my mother in Lothlorien as I learned the craft and eventually became a handmaiden to one of the high elves; or I could become a scout, to be trained by my father and serve whichever realm I chose upon completing my training. I became scout. Though my love of the sea was great, I had always felt a longing to see the lands of Middle Earth that others spoke about.

My studies and travels occurred simultaneously under my father's tutelage. I learned the languages of men: Adunaic, Westron, a few of the tongues of the Haradrim, and others. My father also taught me orkish, that even my enemies may not conceal their speech from me. Where he himself learned that foul language I never knew. He showed me ways of hiding the natural elvish light of my eyes, tricks of disguising my appearance and manners so that I might pass unnoticed among the race of men. In addition, I learned the basic customs, dress, mannerisms of the other races in Middle Earth. I learned the voices of birds, the nature of beasts, how to hide among trees and in meadows alike. The way to seek and find a true path if lost. My naturally keen senses were trained to the most sensitive degree.

Of combat I learned the use of the bow and arrow, at which I became proficient. My father also trained me to use various swords, knives, and daggers, using his own. In this portion his was especially careful, teaching me tricks of using an opponent's strength against them, rather than having me rely on my own strength.

"For you cannot afford to place your trust there," he had told me once. "Swift, light, and sharp though you may be, there will be many stronger or faster than you. Furthermore, you are not a warrior, you are a scout. You first duty is to guide, to travel, not to fight. For in direct combat against many beings out in the world you would lose. If you have to kill, kill swiftly and move on. You must learn silence, wariness, but at the same time note trustworthiness, accept allies when necessary, even if they be dwarves." He paused then, laughing softly. "I do not think it will come to that, though odder things have happened.

To enhance my abilities further, he taught me how to create a few potions, powders, and elixirs—things that would help disguise my scent if orcs were near, or create a thick smoke if I needed slip away in full view. My Noldorin grandmother had taught him these things, for she was an alchemist in the First Age when the blood of the Noldor ran fierce and their hearts were tempted to master dark arts by Melkor the Deceiver.

My father could not know how this darkness would taint my own spirit.

Those times were wonderful for me, traveling the world new to my glance. My father, too, seemed to find joy in the world again. There were only a few time when he was troubled. Now and then he would look over his shoulder, as if some unseen enemy silently stalked him. I once asked him of this strange movement. He would only shake his head.

"It will be soon," was his only comment.

A hundred and twenty-three years went by, among the happiest of my life.

...

We had just completed a journey to Mirkwood. My father was visiting with his few relatives (many of them had already traveled to the Havens), which left me to my own devices. That morning, as I wandered amidst the ancient trees, there was an unsettled air about my thoughts. It had been there the entire trip, though I tried to ignore it. Something in the direction the birds flew, the uneasy wind that chilled the air. I mentioned this feeling to my father. I could see in his eyes that the same pervaded his spirit. However, that was all I could read; his dark eyes, usually so clear to me, were hooded with unknown thoughts.

Later, we were present at a meeting of King Thranduil and his councilors. At that time they requested our service as guides to a group of wood-elves who wished to attend an annual party in Imladris. As soon as they asked, I knew that this was the source of my uneasiness. That we should not, under any circumstances, travel at this time or else danger would befall us. I told my father of this, and he brought it to the attention of the others. However, once they learned that it was in truth I that voiced the warning, they did not pay it heed. They assumed, I suppose, that I was mistaken. After all, I was yet young for a scout and inexperienced—moreover, I had never before manifested the gift of foresight. Pushing my own fears down, I accepted their decision, though deep inside they ever bothered me.

We were just entering the foothills on the east side of the Misty Mountains. A light rain fell, the dark clouds overhead promising more to come. I was riding on one side, flanking the company, my father bringing up the rear. I heard a suspicious crackling of brush, a whispering of orkish and another foul speech, when they struck. At first I sat on my horse, firing arrows as fast I could, trying to dampen the attack. Thranduil's warriors did likewise and for one moment we seemed to succeed. The delay was short and soon they had surrounded us, both on the ground and in the air.

For it was more than just orcs, though they were there in plenty. There was also wargs, crebain, evil beasts. Why they chose to attack a party of elves of no high standing is a mystery, although we were larger than most and evil creatures have never needed reasons to kill. I was soon forced to abandon my horse to their arrows, fighting desperately with the long knives I carried.

Then suddenly, the skirmish was over. The rain had become heavier, the sky darker. The ground was covered with the dead bodies of foul beings, and many of our company suffered injuries, some dire. As the others regrouped to assess the damage, the uneasy feeling lingered in my mind, becoming stronger. Then I saw my father.

He lay on the ground, a deep gash across his chest.

I ran over, falling to my knees beside him. Hoping against hope, I touched his face. Flinching slightly in horror at it's icy hue, I sought for the person that had once been, and found nothing. Only cold lifelessness. I cried out, as if in pain, backing away.

Others surrounded me, saw the dead shell that I now shied from. They spoke words of comfort, invited me to share my grief with them, to heal. But I wanted no peace. It was their fault. Their need to attend this party was the reason my father had died. Turning my back to all of them, I hid my face; the light in my eyes was as the harsh sun of a winter day. Tears silently trickled down my face, joining with the dark rain.

...

I do not know how long I sat there, drawing within. All I know is that went I ventured out of myself, I was alone. The others had continued on without me; provisions for a week were in a pack on my father's horse. I am told now that in that moment of grief I refused to travel on, that I demanded the others leave me; I must accept these words, for my memory of that time is clouded.

I gazed one final time on my father's face. Then I buried him in the damp black soil, placing his sword across his chest. After, I mounted the horse, and rode towards Lorien, where at that time Lady Galadriel dwelled.

Days later I arrived. How many days is uncertain, for there too is my memory clouded. As I attempted to enter the wood, the border guards appeared and asked of my race and purpose. Distrust showed in their eyes. I now realize how I must have looked to other members of my kind. Bedraggled, bent over with fatigue, the hood of my cloak covering my face.

This did not occur to me then. All I knew was anger, flickering like fire. Throwing back my hood, I demanded to see the Lady Eleneve. It was then that Nimran Hathelion, my sworn brother from the time I had first entered Lorien, recognized me and immediately called the other guards to step aside. Suddenly fresh life was breathed into my movements, and I raced to the city of the Galadhrim. Abandoning my horse at the gates, I continued on foot at a swift pace.

I found my mother standing in the middle of her talan. She turned to me expectantly, blue-grey eyes silently pleading that I brought good news. As I confirmed her husband's death, she collapsed on the floor, overcome with grief.

She awoke later, in a bed that others had placed her slender frame on. From the moment that her eyes opened, I knew she would never recover. Yet I tried, tried to forestall her gradual fading. I was with her every moment of the days that followed, placing aside my own unresolved grief; encouraging her to stay among her kindred, to see the beauty in life. We would walk among the ancient trees of Lorien, listening to their whispers, but this only seemed to sadden her further. As she told me once, my mother remembers the time when many of the trees were merely saplings. I could see then the weight of memory upon her, that she had carefully shielded from me when I was younger.

It was at this time that I received a bittersweet gift. A swordsmith in Lorien gave me a rapier, a short sword and a set of knives. He said that my father had requested their crafting, that he had intended to give them to me as soon as he deemed my training complete. As I unsheathed them later, fresh tears formed in my eyes. They were finely made to my exact strength, constructed to give me every advantage.

Nearly a month after my arrival, my mother died. That final day, she called to me for the last time. I still remember her words, echoing in my mind.

"I am ready," she had said calmly. "You are ready, my daughter. Time grows so long, memory so heavy. He is gone, and now I must join him. Ever separated in life, together eternally in death."

She breathed once more, and then was silent.

...

The moment after she died, I gathered my weapons and few items of clothing, and left the talan. Numb, cold pain filled my being, sorrow that I dared not to release. Not here, amidst others who would pity and sympathize. I wanted no sympathy; my only wish was to reclaim the peace that had filled my life before their deaths. I needed to find it for myself, away from the knowledge of so many wise elves who were uninterested the world I found so compelling.

Who were only waiting to die. Like my parents.

The world was dim, the sun's rays dark around my path. Swiftly I walked to the stables, secured my light pack on the back of a horse, then leapt upon his back. As I turned to exit the stables, a hand stayed the horse. Before me stood Nimran, who had been a silent helper in the past month. His pale grey eyes were concerned.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Away," I answered softly. "I need to leave."

Nimran saw that trying to dissuade me would prove fruitless. Instead, he handed me a pouch filled with provisions.

_"Galad talig, muinthel ned fëa."_(Light paths, sister in spirit.)

I smiled sadly and finished the phrase quietly.

_"Ar avorn pada, muindor ned fëa."_(And swift journeys, brother in spirit.)

Then I departed. It would over three hundred years before I met again with the Eldar.


End file.
